


Someday Soon

by the23rdspectacledone



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, HAVE SOME MERCY YEAH?, M/M, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:52:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the23rdspectacledone/pseuds/the23rdspectacledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of fancying the British Government, Greg finally decides to take the first step in getting to know the older Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credits to [sheffiesharpe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sheffiesharpe/pseuds/sheffiesharpe) for letting me use Greg's backstory from ["At Least There's The Football"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/9540). :D

_Someday falling in love with you_

_Holding your hand, making our plans_

_All come true_

_Someday under a sky so blue_

_I’ll give you my heart_

_Our story will start_

_Someday soon._

_-Someday Soon (Francesca Battistelli)_

_\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

**Chapter 1**

Light was streaming in from the curtains, the rays shinning on the auburn-haired man’s face. The sun was already up, but he was still wrapped up under his duvet. Normally for Mycroft, he would’ve been up at dawn. But today was different. Anthea insisted that he have a holiday when she found him sleeping on his office floor, a bunch of files held tightly against his chest as if they were a teddy bear. He needed a break.

A soft yawn escaped his lips, as he sat up and stretched his arms. It’s been awhile since he had a proper lie-in, and he was very much grateful for it. He couldn’t remember what time he got home, but it was probably somewhere between two and three in the morning. Speaking of which, he fumbled under his pillow for his phone, checking the time. It was just nine in the morning, which, for him, was very late.

A shower and an hour later, he was already down in his kitchen, nibbling at some toast as he read the paper. He rarely got to do that, obviously since he really didn’t have the time to. Turning his head, he glanced out at the window, lips quirking up in a faint smile. Lovely day for a walk, he thought. Though the only reason he thought about going out for a walk was because he really didn’t know what to do at home because, obviously, he was rarely there. Which is going to be a bit of a problem, since his leave was for a week. He needs to find something to occupy him during that time.

Going back to his room to change into something a bit more appropriate for going out, since flannel pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt weren’t really acceptable for a walk, he pulled on some dark jeans, a cream coloured button down with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a dark blue pin-striped waistcoat. That’s as casual as he can get since he didn’t really go out for casual meetings that much. Obviously.

Mycroft checked for his keys, umbrella, phone, and wallet before he walked out of his flat, locking the door. Today was going to be a good day.

_\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

Greg groaned as he sat up from his chair, his neck stiff from sleeping there all night. He let out a yawn, stretching his arms and legs. Once his mind was less fogged from sleep, he looked around at his office and groaned. Stacks of paperwork were still strewn all over his desk, and only a third of them were done. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he picked up the nearest file to him and began to work on it, hoping that he could finish all of this today and then go home. He can’t remember the last time he was home…and that was probably three weeks ago.

He fumbled around his trousers for his phone, looking at the time. 9:00. Hopefully he’ll be finished by ten. Aside from checking the time, he began to check his text messages. Thirty text messages, and at least half of them were from Sherlock. Another groan escaped his lips as he read the ones from Sherlock, all of them being threats to him if he didn’t find him an interesting case this week. As much as he’d like Sherlock’s help, he really couldn’t find a decent case that wouldn’t make the dark-haired detective scream “boring”.

It was already 9:30 when Forsythe checked up on him in his office, seeing him collapsed on the floor. The superintendent shook him awake, making him startle. His cheeks flushed when he realised that he had collapsed, immediately sitting up from the floor.

Superintendent Forsythe sighed as he stared down at Greg, shaking his head. “When was the last time you went home, Lestrade?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Um…” Greg paused, scratching sheepishly at his nose. His face flushed harder when he saw the older man shake his head. This was definitely unacceptable for a DI, and thinking about it, he just might get sacked for this. He hoped to whatever god was up there that that wasn’t the case.

“Go home, Lestrade,” he sighed, “I’ll have Donovan finish this up. And since you can’t answer me, I’ll just remind you. You’ve been in here for a month now. And as far as I can tell, you haven’t really gone outside during that time.” The older man grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him upright. He said one more time with finality, “Go home.”

All the silver-haired DI could do was nod and do as he was told. It only took him a few minutes to file a leave for a week, and then he left the Yard by ten. He didn’t have his own car, and of course he couldn’t use the squad car, so he had to walk home. But before that, breakfast. Or brunch.

There was this nearby French café, only a few blocks from the Yard, and he loved going there after work. But he didn’t love it because the food was great –which is true- but he loved it because it reminded him of his father’s restaurant back in Hampstead. He went in, and a few minutes later emerged with a wonderful D’Affinois Croque-Monsieur sandwich.

He could’ve eaten it in the café, but he decided that it’d be better to eat it at home while he watched some “crap telly”, as Sherlock would put it. Or maybe he could catch up with the homework from his niece and nephew -which is reading up on _Deathly Hallows_ since they’re probably gonna quiz him on it once they get the chance to call.

A few minutes of walking, and he was passing by Hyde Park that was on his route home. Going into the park didn’t really cross his mind, until he saw a familiar face. But that was all it was, a familiar face. He had no idea who he was, but he had every intention on finding out once he closely looked at the man sitting on a bench, a book in his hand. He was exceedingly familiar, and his name and relation to him was on the tip of his tongue.

He walked a few paces towards the auburn-haired man before stopping, remembering who he was. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother. His jaw dropped –Mycroft Holmes. Posh, cold, calculating, detached Mycroft Holmes was sitting on a park bench, a book in hand (which on closer inspection, was _Half Blood Prince_ ), and wearing casual-looking clothes and looking absolutely stunning in them. Something that wasn’t usual for the older Holmes. It somehow felt strange seeing him without a three piece suit, but nevertheless, he looked amazing.

Greg didn’t know if he should approach the man, considering he wasn’t usually sociable when he visited crime scenes. But then again, who would think about being sociable around a dead body? He cleared his throat, deciding that he’d take this sudden leap of faith and talk to the younger man.

_\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

Halfway through the book, Mycroft was fairly engrossed in it. He didn’t know why, but he just decided to purchase the whole series a week ago, finishing one book after the next. It  started off as just a peek at the first book when he was in the book store, immediately deciding he’d just buy the book since he was a fair few chapters into it when the store clerk reproached him for private reading.

He was already in chapter 15 when he felt eyes on him. He felt it for a few minutes now, but he just decidedly tried to ignore it. But when he heard footsteps approaching him, he looked up, eyes widening slightly since it wasn’t really someone he expected to see during his leave.

Detective Inspector Lestrade. It was definitely the last person Mycroft expected to see, but still quite a treat. He straightened in his seat, brow quirked when he saw the slight hitch in the silver-haired man’s step. Hesitation, he thought. Most likely because it wasn’t usually that he saw the younger man outside of a crime scene. Or in casual clothing(casual for him, at least). A polite smile formed on his lips when the man was fully in front of him, and he couldn’t help but smirk when he saw the older man’s awkwardness.

“Hello, Detective Inspector.” He smiled, “Lovely to see you without being within ten feet of a body.”

A small blush formed on the DI’s cheeks, looking down awkwardly at his feet when he caught himself staring at the politician. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “Good to see you too, Mr. Holmes.”

“Please,” he smiled, his left hand curling on his umbrella’s handle, “call me Mycroft.”

 The DI smiled down at him before fixing his eyes on the book in the younger man’s lap. “What part you in right now?”

Mycroft quirked his brow, before tracing the older man’s gaze to his book, face flushing as he realised that he was caught reading a children’s book. “I’m a few pages in…” he says it so quietly, and Greg couldn’t help but chuckle when it looks as if he had committed a crime.

“Never realised that you’d be a Rowling fan…Mycroft,” Greg grinned, surprisingly finding that it was easy to talk with the older Holmes, but he was still quite nervous. “I’m on _Deathly Hallows_ as of right now. It’s _brilliant_.” He almost laughs when he sees Mycroft look up at him, wide-eyed.

“Really?” he asked cautiously, “So, you’ve read the other books as well?” Mycroft winced internally. That was a stupid question. He looked back down at his book, his fingers fiddling with the top right corner of a page (nervous habit, it seems).

Greg nodded, shoving his free hand into his pocket and looking up at the sky a moment, “Of course. Well, my niece got me into it,” he smiled, “But nevertheless, I think it’s great. I’d probably read it even if she didn’t force me to.” He looked back down at Mycroft, face flushing as he met his eyes.

The older Holmes smiled, nodding in agreement with Greg. Looking down at the book in his lap, he slipped the bookmark into the page he was at and shut the book, placing it beside him. “I am glad that you have not laughed at me for this…” he mumbled sheepishly, bringing a hand to scratch lightly at his nose. It was strangely out-of-character for the Mycroft that Greg knows, or rather, doesn’t know.

Greg just smiled in return, “I’m not the kind of man to laugh at someone for doing something they like.” He felt his cheeks flush as he said that. It’s been a while since he last talked to someone like this…most of the time he only talks about work; so having the time to actually talk to someone –specifically Mycroft- without it being about work was great.

“Well…I’m glad you’re not that kind of man, then.” Mycroft replied sheepishly, looking down and curling his hands in his lap. All Greg could do was nod.

They stayed there in silence for a minute or two, the air a little bit awkward. Greg wasn’t sure why it was awkward…it just felt like that. Usually, he was confident around people, probably poking fun at them already as if they’ve known them for a long time. But with Mycroft, Greg couldn’t help but be shy. Probably because since he’s had a crush on the certain Holmes for a couple years now, and seeing him dressed like this and not acting like a posh git just made it worse.

Greg thought about saying something, but his stomach growled before he said anything. His face flushed, and it flushed even harder when Mycroft giggled. “I take it you haven’t had breakfast yet?” he asked amusedly, smiling warmly at Greg. The DI’s heart fluttered.

“Yeah…” he chuckled, bringing a hand up to rub behind his neck, “I was just going home to do just that.” he added as he fiddled with corner of the paper bag containing his brunch.

“Oh. Well don’t let me keep you, then.” Mycroft smiled again, “I’m sure you’d prefer to be at home right now, considering you haven’t slept in your own bed for weeks. Your neck must hurt quite a lot right now.” He said, taking his book in hand and flipping it open again.

Greg looked at Mycroft pointedly. “Um…how’d you-?” he cut himself off, shaking his head. It was stupid of him to ask, since he _is_ Sherlock’s brother. Of course he’d know just by looking at him. So he simply smiled at Mycroft, nodding. “Yeah,” he yawned as he stretched his arms, and then looked back down at the younger man. “So…uh…” he mumbled, shifting his feet awkwardly before glancing up at Mycroft, “I’ll see you around.”

Mycroft simply smiled at him and went back to his book. “See you.” And at that, Greg turned on his heel, already walking away from the younger man. But before he could even get four-feet away from the man, he couldn’t resist turning and walking back to him. The younger man’s head shot up as he saw Greg walk back to him.

“Did you forget something, Detective Inspector?” he asked, casting Greg a questioning gaze.

It was probably a long shot, but Greg decided to ask anyway since he really couldn’t resist. “Uh…” he started, “Text me when you finish with that, yeah? I’d love to hear what the British Government has to say about it…”

At Greg’s words, Mycroft’s eyes widened; the corners of his lips quirking upward. He nodded, smiling. “Alright. I’ll make sure to do that.”

Greg’s eyes lit up, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “Alright, then,” he mumbled, a blush on his cheeks, “Um…bye. Again.” He beamed, finally turning around and walking out of the park. A faint “bye” was all he heard as he walked away.

As soon as Greg got home, an idiotic grin was still on his face. He hoped that Mycroft would finish the book soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to [sheffiesharpe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sheffiesharpe/pseuds/sheffiesharpe) for letting me use Greg's backstory from ["At Least There's The Football"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/9540). :D
> 
> [EDIT] I fixed a few things (i.e. times, places, and whatnot). So sorry for the confusion!

**Chapter 2**

“Uhh…” Greg thought for a moment, holding the phone to his ear, “The Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand…aaand…” he thought for a moment, “the…uh…Philosopher’s stone…?”

An exasperated groan sounded through the other line. “No, Tió G,” his niece said, “The Deathly Hallows are comprised of the Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and the _Resurrection_ stone. Not the _Philosopher’s stone_!”

Greg rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling fondly as he said, “You’re sounding a lot like Hermoine, y’know?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Greg could hear the grin in her voice, and could easily tell that she was chewing toast. She swallowed, “but that doesn-“

“ _TIÓ G!!!!!”_

Greg recoiled back from the phone, wincing –but still smiling- as another voice added to the line. Now Elizabeth and Elliot were both on the phone. Or phones. They have two in their flat ( _apartment_ , as the eldest –which was Elizabeth- reminds him) in San Francisco, just for the very purpose of this –a sort of a conference call. _“It’s_ tedious _to put it on speaker,”_ his nephew said. He hasn’t got a clue where he got that word, but it seemed like it was his favourite for the time being. 

“Get off the line, Ell! I get to talk to him first!” Betsy hissed, and Greg was holding down a laugh when he heard a faint raspberry coming from the background. 

He sighed softly and leaned back on his chair, occasionally looking down at his mobile phone, obviously still waiting for Mycroft’s text. It wasn't that late -probably three in the afternoon- since Bits and Ell were awake and getting ready for school- but he really couldn’t help but keep on glancing down at his phone to see if Mycroft would really text him. It’d probably be a few days before Mycroft would text since it seemed that he was still in the middle of the book –but still. Greg startled out of his thoughts when he heard the two start to call each other names over the phone –which was a bit amusing if you considered the fact that they were probably in the same room, or right next to each other.

“Oi, you two, stop that.” he said, “you can talk to me at the same time. You’ve got two phones; no need to fight over talking to me, yeah?”

This time, he didn’t hold back his laugh when he heard both of them blow a raspberry into the phone. They talked for a few more minutes before Joe got them off the phone, the two of them leaving for school. Greg groaned when he heard his brother’s voice.

“What the hell are you doing being at home this early?” his brother asked as he rolled his eyes, “You get sacked or what?”

Greg gave a small huff of breath before replying, “Nah,” he sighed, “Got a week’s off. Forsythe found me collapsed on the floor snoozing.”

He heard a groan coming from the other line and he smirked, almost seeing his older brother pinching in between his eyes, “Don’t tell me. You didn’t go home for weeks huh?”

“You know me so well.” Greg grinned, hearing his brother scoff. “And what about you?” he asked, “You should be at work this time of day. Restaurant not going well?” he teased. Of course the restaurant was going well, but he just loved pushing Joe’s buttons.

He could almost hear the frown in his brother’s voice when he said, “Sod off.”

Greg chuckled and shifted in his chair, his legs hanging off the arm of the chair while his head rested on the other. He looked down at his mobile. Still no text from Mycroft. He sighed softly, not paying any attention to what his brother was saying as his mind wandered back to his encounter with the older Holmes earlier that day.

He jumped back from his thoughts when he heard his brother call his name twice. “Greg? Earth to Gregory? You still there?”

“Eh…um, yeah.” He mumbled, looking down at his phone to sort through his messages. There were a lot of them…but they were from the wrong Holmes. He sighed inwardly as he passed a hand down his face.

His brother gave a sound of understanding, making him quirk his brow. “What?” he asked.

“Alright,” Joe sighed again, “Who is it? You never space out like that. Not unless something, or _someone,_ is up.” Greg flinched, and he knows his brother is smirking on the other end. “So who is it? You’re waiting for a text, aren’t you?”

Greg swallowed hard, and he heard his brother snicker. “It…it’s nothing. No one. Really.” He murmured, face flushing. There really wasn’t a point in lying to his brother, since he _always_ knew when Greg was hiding something. But Greg refused to admit to his brother that he was acting like a lovesick puppy. Definitely not.

He cleared his throat. “So,” he started, “Where’s Mari? She at work?” he asked, hoping that it would change the subject.

Joe hummed, confirming that his wife was, in fact, at work. Greg was thankful that he let the previous topic go. Though he was very sure that he’d bring it up again the next time he called. They talked a bit more; their topics being football (West Ham getting close on deal with Paul Robinson), what’s the best thing to pair to a _semilion_ , and when Greg plans on actually getting a proper kitchen.

Greg groaned after his brother hung up, probably because he’d been yawning every minute or so. But that was really no reason to hang up in the middle of him saying something. He looked down at the time on his phone. 4 p.m. And still no text from Mycroft. It was probably stupid of him to think that Mycroft would text him today, he thought. Of course, Mycroft had things to do. He was a busy man. He wouldn’t just sit around with a book and waste his time.

 

_\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

Mycroft was lounging around the sofa in his study, his book still in hand. He knew it was pretty late, but he really couldn’t help but want to finish it a little bit earlier. Why? Probably because he’d have an excuse to text the dishy Detective Inspector. But of course he wouldn’t admit that to himself.

He looked up at the wall clock hanging above his door. 12 a.m.  _Gregory would probably be asleep by now…_ A soft yawn escaped his lips as he stretched on the sofa, a few joints popping. It was rather strange to be at home like this, he thought. Most of the time he’d still be at the office by this hour.

Sleep has crossed his mind, but he was already a page away from finishing the book. As soon as he read the last words, he gave a soft sigh as he processed what he just read. He can’t wait to get started on the next book, but he did promise to tell Gregory what he thought about the book once he finished –which he was more than willing to do.

But of course, he’ll just do that tomorrow since he can feel sleep start to creep up on him. He thought about going back to his room, but the sofa felt too comfortable and he was barely awake by the time that the thought occurred. His eyes slipped shut in a few seconds, his book tucked under his arm, as he drifted off to sleep.

 

_\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

Greg woke with a start, his phone vibrating from underneath his pillow. He groaned softly as he reached for his phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to stop the vibrating. As soon as it stopped, he dug his face into the pillow, pulling his blanket up over his head. He definitely wasn’t a morning person.

After a few seconds of trying to fall asleep again, he groaned and sat up, seeing that he couldn’t. “I swear to god, if this is Sherlock…” he muttered angrily to himself, yawning as he ran a hand through his sleep mused hair. But when he thumbed open the phone; he was met with a pleasant surprise. A text from Mycroft. His morning just got ten times better.

Giddily opening the text despite his early morning stupor, a broad grin formed on his face as he read the message from the older Holmes.

_Good morning, Detective Inspector. I hope I did not wake you. –MH_

Greg couldn’t stop grinning as he typed a reply.

 **Morning, Mycroft. And no, you didn’t wake me,** \- a lie- **so it’s alright. How’s the book coming? –GL**

After he sent the text, he slipped out of bed, stretching his arms as he let out a loud yawn. He padded into the bathroom to wash his face and rinse his mouth to rid of the early morning breath he had, and then went out into the kitchen to have some breakfast.

It’s been a while since he cooked a proper breakfast for himself, since he usually left extremely early in the morning or he was already in the Yard. He rummaged around the fridge, contemplating on what he should cook, but then just settling for eggs and toast because he was still half-asleep.

As he ate his breakfast, his phone vibrated on the table and he immediately grabbed it, sliding a thumb across the screen to unlock it. A broad grin appeared on his face again.

_I finished it last night. I thought about texting you then, but you were probably asleep by that time. I did not want to wake you. –MH_

Greg quirked his brow as he read the message, but he couldn’t help but chuckle. So he _does_ sit around with a book and waste his time. He doesn’t know why he thought he wouldn’t, but he could definitely see Mycroft doing that. He finished his food and got up to put his plate on the sink, leaning against the counter as he typed in a text.

**Ohh. Probably not. I was still awake by midnight. I was waiting for you.**

Greg hesitated in sending the text, thinking he should probably remove that last part.

**Ohh. Probably not. I was still awake by midnight. –GL**

The reply came immediately after Greg sent the text, making him smile.

_I see. Were you waiting for me? How sweet. –MH_

A blush spread across Greg’s face, and he could definitely feel the sarcasm dripping out of the text.

**Oi, don’t be so sure of yourself. I was talking with my niece and nephew in America, so of course I had to stay up late. –GL**

Which was true -since Bits and Ell called him again once they got home. They weren't done quizzing him.

_Oh? The same niece that got you interested in Harry Potter? Didn’t think she’d be American. –MH_

**Yeah, that niece. Well…I wouldn’t exactly call her “ _American”_ …I’d say she was highly European, what with their Spanish and French heritage. –GL**

Greg surprised himself when he sent that text –how could he easily talk about his niece with someone he barely knew? Well…how could he actually talk like _this_ with the British government? He startled out of his thoughts again when his phone buzzed.

_Interesting. How global of you; European-American relatives and a French and British upbringing.-MH_

**Correction: I’m not global. Just very European. :) –GL**

He paused, before sending another text as he realised something.

**How’d you know I had a French upbringing? –GL**

It was probably stupid of him to ask. Of course Mycroft knew –he probably runs a background check on anyone that comes within a five-mile radius of his brother.

_Gregory. I heard you cursing in French under your breath the last time we met at a crime scene. You’re too obviously part French. –MH_

**Oh. You heard that…? –GL**

_Yes. I also heard how you thought Forsythe was such a “fils de putain” for putting you on a case where DI Dimmock was supposed to be in charge. –MH_

**Don’t tell him. I beg you. I’ll give you anything you want. Which is probably something I can’t afford. –GL**

_Oh no, dear Detective Inspector. Of course I wouldn’t tell. But there is something I’d like for you to give me. –MH_

Greg quirked his brow. What could Mycroft possibly want from him? Hopefully it wasn’t expensive.

**And what, if I may ask, am I capable of giving you that won’t cost me more than my rent? –GL**

_Your time. –MH_

His face turned deep red when he read that text over and over. _His time?_ He couldn’t possibly be asking him out…could he…? Greg didn’t want to get his hopes up, so he asked again.

**My _time?_ What- like you need my watch? –GL**

_No, Gregory. I was hoping maybe you could meet me over a cup of coffee today. –MH_

And at that, Greg’s heart burst out of his chest, his face as red as a beet. Mycroft was actually asking him out. _Mycroft. Asking. Him. Out._ Greg couldn’t believe his eyes as he read the text over a second time. Or maybe he was just reading into things too much. Maybe Mycroft didn’t mean for it to be a date…but fuck it. He’ll think of it as a date no matter what, no questions asked.

**Sure thing. As long as you’re paying. Where and when should I meet you? –GL**

_Hyde Park; same spot we met yesterday. Would you prefer to meet after or before lunch? –MH_

**Anytime convenient for you, Mycroft. It’s not like I’m busy today. I’m on leave. –GL**

_Oh. You’re on leave as well? –MH_

**Yeah. Boss found me passed out on the floor yesterday. Sent me home early –that’s why I was going home to have breakfast. –GL**

_Ohh. Well anyways, I’ll see you after lunch, then. –MH_

**Alright. See you. –GL**

Greg shoved his phone back into his pocket, an idiotic grin on his face as he rolled up his sleeves to do the dishes. No matter how Greg or anyone looked at it, Mycroft has just asked him out on a date. And that’s final.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Greg was nervously looking around the park, his face flushed as he started to think about his “date” with the older Holmes brother. Well…should he call it a date? Or maybe it was just a simple meeting? Greg didn’t know what to think. It couldn’t be a date…Mycroft didn’t see him like that. They weren’t even friends. They were more of acquaintances than friends. And it was only until yesterday that they started to talk about something other than work or Sherlock.

Deciding to take a seat on one of the nearby benches, he brought out his iPod to listen to music as he waited for the younger man. He scrolled through his music tracks, smiling as he looked them over. The music on his iPod would make a man well into his forties cringe and float in nostalgia at the same time. His music choices ranged from The Who to Bowie and then to Green Day –a peculiar music choice for a man his age, he knew.

He was halfway through ‘Are We the Waiting’ when he caught sight of a familiar auburn-haired man. His heart paced slightly, and he was feeling absolutely giddy when he saw Mycroft. A broad grin spread across his face, greeting the man with a wave of his hand.

“Hey,” Greg beamed, standing up from the bench and walking over to meet Mycroft halfway. The taller man quirked his brow when he saw the white earphones in Greg’s ear and the silver iPod peeking out of his pocket. Greg traced his gaze, flushing when he saw Mycroft smirk.

“What?” he asked a bit defensively, “I like music…s’there something wrong with that…?” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking pointedly at Mycroft, but blushing immediately when he chuckled.

Mycroft shook his head, smiling warmly at Greg. “No,” he said, “there is nothing wrong with liking music, Gregory. Quite the contrary…” he trailed off when he looked down at the iPod that was now in Greg’s hand, smirking again when he saw what was on. Now Greg was really blushing.

When Mycroft saw how red Greg’s face was, he simply smiled. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I find that their album ‘American Idiot’ is quite agreeable,” he said, chuckling when Greg’s head shot up, eyes wide with disbelief.

“No _fuckin’_ way…” Greg gaped, staring at Mycroft with wide eyes, “You listen to _Green Day_? _You_?” he asked incredulously. It seemed that Mycroft Holmes definitely wasn’t what Greg thought he was. As far as he knows, he could be extremely different from what he really thought.

Another blush formed on Greg’s cheeks when he heard Mycroft chuckle. The taller man smiled at him again, “Yes. Is there a problem with that?” he questioned, head tilted to the side as he stared at Greg amusedly.

Greg opened his mouth to talk, but really couldn’t figure out what to say. Maybe he’d go with telling the truth? “Well…uh, no. I just…” he trailed off, face breaking off into a grin, “I never thought you’d be the type to read Harry Potter _AND_ listen to rock music. It’s…surprising.”

Chuckling softly, Mycroft shook his head. “Yes…most people think I’d be the type to read biographies and the like…well- I _am_ like that. _But_ I have other interests as well.” He flashed him a quick smile as he said that before walking in the direction of the nearby café, with Greg following behind him.

His mental image of Mycroft began to shatter piece by piece, and he was alright with that. Absolutely alright with it.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So you’ve just finished the book last night, yeah?” Greg asked before he sipped at his coffee, wincing a bit when the hot liquid scalded his tongue.

Mycroft was watching him lazily and then he nodded, a warm smile on his face –which was really a treat for Greg since he’s never seen him smile like that most of the times they’ve met. If Greg was to be honest with himself, this whole thing with going out with Mycroft was the real treat. “Yes. I had too much free time yesterday that that was the only thing I’ve done,” he chuckled, “I still feel rather productive, though.”

Greg broke off into a grin. So yesterday was Mycroft’s lazy day. Who knew that he had those? He let out an amused hum as he propped his chin in his hand.

“You seem to be full of surprises…” he murmured under his breath as he listened to Mycroft talk about the surprise he got when Snape killed Dumbledore, a soft chuckle escaping his lips at his childish expressions –which he was pretty sure Mycroft didn’t know he was making.

After a few minutes though, Mycroft suddenly fell silent, his face flushing. “What’s wrong…?” Greg asked cautiously, brow quirked. A warm smile lit up his face when Mycroft looked up at him again, a sheepish expression on his face.

“W-well…um…” he stammered, “I’m sorry if I seem to be rather…talkative…” Mycroft looked down at his lap, face still flushed with embarrassment.

Greg stared at him blankly for a few seconds before a grin began to form on his face again. He waved off Mycroft’s apology with a smile, taking a sip of his coffee. “I don’t mind. I find it rather entertaining to hear you talk,” he beamed, “Please continue.”

And at the older man’s words, Mycroft’s face flushed harder, but he definitely couldn’t help the idiotic grin that formed on his face. Greg thought about matching it with his own, but he thought that might be a bit too obvious –which would probably cause the older Holmes to recoil in horror and never talk to him again. Well, at least that’s what he thought.

So they talked –or Mycroft talked, with Greg adding side comments that eventually left the older Holmes blushing and grinning stupidly. Greg definitely enjoyed that part of their ‘date’ –if he was allowed to call it that. But when Mycroft was done, and a small silence surrounded them for a bit, Greg really couldn’t help but ask.

“So…” he mumbled, finishing off his coffee to avoid Mycroft’s gaze for the moment, “Is this the only reason you called me out here? You wanted to, uh, talk?” he asked cautiously, but couldn’t help chuckling when he saw the older Holmes’ face flush hard.

Shaking his head slowly, he looked down at his lap, smiling sheepishly. “Well…” he started, “I didn’t really have much to do at home…so I figured maybe I could go out for a coffee,” he said, trying to act casual but still a bit sheepish, “And…I thought you might be good company, so…” his voice trailed off, face flushing harder as he said that.

Greg grinned, a small blush creeping up to his cheeks. “Ohh. I thought you might’ve wanted to talk about how your brother was doing. Or something like that.”

“Well…I suppose I should ask.” Mycroft took one last sip of his coffee, a rather neutral look on his face. He shifted into the older sibling mode, and Greg couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “How is Sherlock? I pray that he hasn’t been much of pain lately.”

Which, in a way, wasn’t the case. Sherlock’s been on his back for most of the week, bugging him about new cases. But every time he finally gave him one, the dark-haired detective would just take one look at it and then throw it across the room while shouting “boring”.

“Oh. He’s been…tolerable,” the detective said, a slight smile on his lips.

“That doesn’t sound so reassuring.”

“Well, that’s as ‘reassuring’ as I can get.”

Mycroft stared for a moment, and then smiled. “Then that definitely reassures me that he’s been a pain in the arse,” he chuckled, “I’m sorry, though I wish I could, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Greg smiled, looking down as he fiddled with the lid of his cup, “I’m already used to your brother, so…”

When Greg looked back up at Mycroft, a blush spread across his cheeks again as his eyes locked onto icy-blue orbs. On closer inspection, the younger man’s eyes were quite beautiful –which was obviously a common feature among Holmeses.

He gulped loudly when his heart started to hammer in his chest, a silence surrounding them as they stared into each other’s eyes. The tension was thick –and quite surprising. Things were going by rather smoothly a while ago, so where’d the tension come from?

Wanting to avoid the auburn-haired man’s gaze, Greg brought his cup up to his lips, forgetting that he’d already finished his coffee a while ago. His blush intensified, but a small sigh of relief escaped him when Mycroft chuckled. The tension was gone again, but there was still a bit of awkwardness present.

“Well…I suppose we should go now…” Mycroft mumbled after a moment, looking down at his watch, “I shan’t be keeping you for much longer.” He smiled warmly at Greg, making the silver-haired detective grin idiotically at him.

When Mycroft stood up from his seat and walked toward the exit, Greg followed behind him, humming quietly to a song that had started to play in his head. He was pretty sure that Mycroft could hear, because he joined in too, and Greg simply smiled at that.

“So…” Greg started when they got out of the café, turning to look at Mycroft. A small blush formed on his cheeks again, and he could see that the same was happening for the older Holmes brother. That was interesting. In fact, this whole thing was interesting. “I guess…I’ll see you around, yeah…?”

Mycroft nodded minutely, smiling. “Yes…Thank you for your time, Detective Inspector,” he mumbled quietly, a bashful smile on his lips, “It was rather…interesting.”

Greg chuckled softly at that, but his mind began to work when he heard those words. Did that mean Mycroft know about his…? ‘ _Well, of course! You’ve been too bloody obvious the whole time you were together, so of course he’d know! But…he didn’t even comment on it. Not even in the slightest. What did that mean then?!’_ Greg’s mind was spinning, thoughts bombarding his usually peaceful mind. God, the things Mycroft Holmes did to him.

And when Greg crashed back from his thoughts, hearing the younger man clear his throat, he realised that he’d been staring at Mycroft again. He was blushing. And rather flustered.

“Is there something on my face…?” he asked sarcastically, a blush still present on his features.

“What-? Um, no. I was just…” Greg stumbled around with his words, trying to formulate a believable ruse as to why he was staring at Mycroft. Of course, he went with his usual approach: changing the subject. “When are you gonna start on the next book…?” he asked, acting as if what happened a minute ago didn’t happen.

Greg hoped that Mycroft would forget about it –but that was highly unlikely since he was a Holmes. But to his surprise, he did forget about it. Or he just let it go and didn’t bother bugging him about it –which was a huge relief to the Detective Inspector.

The younger man simply smiled at Greg, “I’ll probably start on it tonight. Or tomorrow. Well. It actually depends on whether or not I’ll be able to get around Anthea’s intercepting of my work-related messages,” he chuckled lightly as he ran a hand through his auburn hair, Greg’s eyes following the movement, “I really can’t help it. It’s impossible to keep me away from work.”

“Clearly.” Greg laughed, “Though, I have to admit, Anthea’s right in intercepting your texts,” he said, and couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw the pout that pulled on Mycroft’s lips. He shook his head, “It’s your leave! You should be relaxing and stuff, right?”

Mycroft stared blankly at him, before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I know, I know…” he grumbled, “But I’ve nothing better to do at home.” He said that last part quietly, appearing somehow ashamed of it.

“It’s been…a while…since I last spent time in my home. So, obviously, I really wouldn’t know what to do at home,” he said defensively when Greg quirked his brow at him, “And besides,” he huffed, “Being idle is…dull.”

Greg well nearly laughed at how Mycroft sounded –he was almost like Sherlock. He ran a hand through his silver hair and nodded. “I know what you mean. I can’t even sit still for even a few minutes without looking out the window. Especially when I hear police cars in the distance.”

“Yes…it actually seems impossible for me to sit down without thinking whether or not war broke out without me…” he chuckled, and a smile started to form on the younger man’s lips, making Greg’ heart skip a beat.

When a small silence surrounded them again, both of them were now staring at the other, eyes roaming over their faces. But when they finally realised what they were doing, they both tensed up, faces flushing and immediately shifting their gaze to something else. The awkwardness was back.

“Well,” Mycroft cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he looked up at Greg, “I…uh, I should be going. “

Greg nodded, still avoiding Mycroft’s gaze. “Um…yeah. So…” he mumbled, finally looking up at Mycroft, “I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around.”

“Yes. Yeah. See you.”

“Yeah…uh. Bye.”

“Bye.”

“I’ll be going now.”

“Yeah. Uh, me too.”

“We’re rambling now, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

They both stared for a moment, and then broke off into laughter. God, this was awkward –but pleasantly, so. Greg wasn’t sure how, but it was somehow pleasant. Pleasant awkwardness. Was there such a thing?

“Yeah, I’ll go now.”

“Alright. Bye. See you.”

“Bye.”

“ _Gregory._ ”

“Yes! Alright, I’m going!” Greg chuckled at the expression on Mycroft’s face. It was halfway between amused and…he wasn’t sure what the other emotion was.

When Greg walked off to the direction of his flat, he looked back for a moment, casting Mycroft a smile and waved. He laughed when the younger man arched a brow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. So he continued on his way.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**Get home alright? –GL**

Mycroft was sprawled out on the sofa in his study, trying to work out how to get his messages back from Anthea, when Greg texted him. His heart swelled as he read the message, a stupid smile on his face as he typed in a reply.

_Yes. How about you? –MH_

**Yeah, I got home fine. I had a bit of trouble on the way, though. –GL**

_Oh? What happened? –MH_

**Some bloke was getting beat up in an alley near my flat, so I had to help him. And I had to chase down the other guys and bring them to the Yard. But I got sent home by Forsythe as soon as I turned them in. –GL**

_I see. I hope you didn’t sustain any injuries from fighting with those ruffians. –MH_

**Ruffian. You just used ruffian in a sentence. Seriously, I’ve never heard anyone use that word before. –GL**

Mycroft chuckled at that as he texted back a reply.

_The people you talk to aren’t so eloquent, then. –MH_

**Obviously. Glad I have you to talk to, then. Maybe I’ll get to hear words I don’t even know shit about. –GL**

_Probably. –MH_

**Right. So…I’ll talk to you later, yeah? –GL**

_Yes. Alright. Talk to you later. –MH_

When Mycroft didn’t receive a reply, he sighed, still grinning idiotically. He thought back on his…’date’ with the silver-haired DI. Was that a date? Well, he’d like to think so –even if Greg didn’t see it that way. And now that he thought about it… his face flushed a deep red as he recalled everything that he did. God, he was so obviously smitten with the older man, it wasn’t even funny. In only a span of two days, his feelings for Greg had intensified, and he didn’t know what to do about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Greg hadn’t received a text from Mycroft all day, which obviously bothered him, but he still tried hard not to think about it. He was probably busy…right? Well, he was pretty sure that their ‘date’ went well. If by well he meant ‘awkwardly pleasant’, then yes, it went well.

But still. He was pretty sure they’ve gotten to that point in their friendship that they’d text each other if they were bored. And when did he start to consider that they were friends? He wasn’t even sure if Mycroft saw him as a friend –especially since it’s only been a day. But with the way they were talking, he was pretty sure they were friends. Possibly. Probably.

He let out a groan, digging his face deeper into his pillow. How can one man occupy his mind so much after only being friends with him for a day? It was preposterous, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. And as he recalled their ‘date’, he couldn’t help but flush with embarrassment at how smitten he was with the younger man. He actually outright flirted with him. But he was pretty sure that Mycroft didn’t know that. He half-hoped and didn’t hope that that wasn’t the case.

With one last look at his phone, he let out an exasperated sigh. It won’t do him any good with just waiting for that text from Mycroft. Definitely wouldn’t help him. He looked at the time.  11:30 p.m. He should probably be going to bed now, but he tried that a while ago. He couldn’t sleep. Mostly because he was still trying to figure out why Mycroft still wasn’t texting him.

He tried reassuring himself again that he was just busy…but how could he be busy? He did just say that he had nothing to do at home…so how the hell could Mycroft be busy enough to not text him? Greg groaned into his pillow again. This was just pure _torture_.

Trying to sleep again, and seeing that he couldn’t, he decided maybe he could call his niece and nephew. They were probably doing homework right now, and he was pretty sure that Betsy wasn’t done quizzing him on _Deathly Hallows_.

“Hello?” said a small voice.

“Hey, Ell.”

He let out a soft chuckle when he heard the little boy excitedly call out to his sister, the sound of feet shuffling closer to the phone. And then a second later, he heard a click. Now both of them were on the phone.

“What’re you doing up so late?” asked Betsy, and Greg could definitely hear the frown in her voice. She’s growing up to become much like her father –always worrying about him.

He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, “Eleven isn’t late, Bits,” he chuckled, “And why aren’t you doing homework?”

An exasperated sigh sounded from the other line, and Greg couldn’t help but grin. “We _were_ doing homework. But that was before _you_ called.”

“Why are you saying that as if I just hadn’t saved you from doing your homework?” Greg chuckled, turning over on his bed and bringing out _Deathly Hallows_ , “You done quizzing me, yeah?”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“You really must have nothing to do if you’re reminding me of my quiz.”

Greg winced, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to fool Betsy that easy. “W-well,” he mumbled, “Excuse me, but I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. I just wanted to make sure that you were done with your interrogation!”

“Oh, that’s a load of horse crap-”

“Oi!” he interjected.

“-And I know you too well, Tió G. You’ve got nothing to do. And you’re still awake. So obviously,” Betsy continued as Greg let out a quiet sigh, rolling his eyes, but smiling all the same as Bits continued her deduction, “You’ve got nothing to do but you can’t sleep. It’s either you’re worried about something or you’ve just developed a really bad case of insomnia. Am I right?”

“I can’t lie to you, can’t I? Seriously, Betsy, you’re starting to sound like-”

“The man with the skull?” Betsy said, and Greg was very sure that she was smirking on the other line, “Well, it’s your fault for introducing me to him through your stories.”

Greg chuckled lightly as he ran a hand through his hair again, “Yeah, I’m starting to regret that now,” he laughed, “But how are you doing, Bits? And where’s Ell by the way?”

“Here!” the little boy said in a cheery voice, “I couldn’t talk because Betsy was too busy showing off.”

“I wasn’t showing off.”

“Yes you were, show-off.”

“I’m not a show off.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Oi, stop that!” Greg sighed exasperatedly, “Seriously, can’t you two get along? Me and your Da weren’t hostile with each other when we were younger.”

“ _Lies_ ,” said Betsy.

“You two were worse than us,” Ell added with a chuckle.

Betsy let out an agreeing hum, “And we do get along. It’s just that this _shorty_ doesn’t know when to shut his yap!”

“Well you wouldn’t let me talk!”

“Here we go...” Greg added with a sigh as he rolled his eyes.

“I wanted to tell Tió about yesterday!”

“Couldn’t you have waited?”

“I’ve done my waiting!” Ell said seriously, “Twelve years of it! In AZKABAN!”

There was a small silence that extended on both lines, before both children –and Greg- broke off into laughter. When they’ve calmed down some, Betsy sighed.

“You’ve just been itching to use that line, haven’t you?” she chuckled and Greg could hear her ruffle her little brother’s hair.

Greg could hear the grin in the little boy’s voice as he spoke, “Of course. I think it’d be rather hard to resist not do that.”

“Why are you talking like a posh prick, Ell?” Greg asked abruptly, a smirk curling on his lips when he heard Ell wince.

The little boy cleared his throat before speaking, “I wasn’t talking like a ‘posh prick’, Tió G. That’s just how I usually talk.”

Now that Greg thought about it, Ell’s been speaking like that for months now. Last year he was talking like a bloody chav; but since the start of January, he’s been talking like Mycroft. Well, not exactly _like_ Mycroft –since his words are awfully more complex- but someone from his kind. The posh kind.

Greg sighed quietly, shaking his head but still smiling. At least he wasn’t talking like a chav anymore. “Anyways,” he started, “how’s your football going?”

“I won a game yesterday!” Elliot said cheerfully, making Greg’s smile go wider.

“Really, now? That’s just brilliant!” Greg beamed over the phone, and he was sure that Ell was shining with pride at this moment, “Would you like to tell me about it?”

And so they talked –or rather, Elliot and Bits talked while Greg just listened. The little boy discussed the game strategies he and his teammates used to win the game, while Bits pointed out the errors that the opposing team made. And then the conversation drifted from discussing the younger sibling’s strategies to the both of them making strategies against the other’s.

Greg was pretty much content to just listening to the two bicker about whether their strategies would actually be plausible, but he still pointed out the errors in both of their strategies when they both paused to think. And then the conversation drifted from that to which teams were likely to go to the World Cup this year. That continued on for a few more minutes, before Greg finally started to feel drowsy.

When the two children noticed that he was starting to yawn, Bits immediately remembered that she was scolding him awhile ago for staying up late, and now she was the reason why he was staying up. Greg heard her groan through the other line, and he just chuckled when she told him to go to sleep.

By the time that Greg put his phone down, it was already 2 a.m. He sank down onto his pillow and glanced down at his phone one last time before he went to sleep. He already forgot about his fussing on not receiving a text from the older Holmes. His eyelids were becoming heavy with sleep and he was already on the verge of unconsciousness, when his phone lit up. He didn’t bother looking at it anymore, thinking it was probably just a text from Sherlock.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Greg woke up slowly as usual, rolling on the bed so that he was wrapped up in his duvet. Like a cocoon. He groaned softly when his phone vibrated, reminding him that he forgot to take off the alarm on his phone. Again. When the vibrating finally stopped, he lifted the duvet up over his head.

He reached under his pillow and fumbled around for his phone, peeking from under the duvet to see what time it was. But he forgot about looking at the time when he saw that there was a text. And from Mycroft too.

_Good morning, Gregory. –MH_

A smile curled on Greg’s lips, relief washing over him. He was worried that he had done something wrong –since Mycroft didn’t text him at all the day after their date. And yes, he’s _very_ determined that it’d be called a date.

He sat up on the bed, stretching his arms and letting out a yawn before he texted a reply to the auburn-haired man.

**Morning, Mycroft. Busy day yesterday? –GL**

Before Greg could even think about getting out of bed, a reply came immediately.

_Very. I was pulled out of my leave yesterday. It seemed that Sherlock got himself involved in a rather peculiar case; a case relating to our family. –MH_

Greg quirked his brow. A case relating to the mysterious Holmes family...that would be rather peculiar. God help the DI that was handling that case. He texted a quick reply before getting out of bed and padding over to the bathroom to wash up, leaving his phone on the bed.

**A case related to your family? Really? –GL**

There was already a text from Mycroft when Greg got out of the bathroom, and he couldn’t help but grin at the message.

_Yes. This case was supposed to be put under you; but since you were unavailable, it was given to Detective Inspector Dimmock. The poor man. –MH_

He went out of his room, phone in hand, and into the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast. He sent a reply to Mycroft as he looked into the refrigerator.

**Let’s just hope that Sherlock doesn’t gnaw off his head before the case is over. –GL**

Greg let out a quiet groan when he saw the contents of the refrigerator. He made a note to get some groceries later. Maybe he can cook himself a proper meal for lunch and supper. When he saw that there was still some milk and cereals, he just settled for that.

He was sat on a stool on the island counter, eating his cereals as Mycroft’s reply came.

_That’s unlikely to happen, since John is there to keep him in check. –MH_

**Guess so. Thank god for John, yeah? –GL**

_Indeed. I’ve never seen my little brother behave like that before. –MH_

Greg grinned, knowing exactly what Mycroft meant. Sherlock was a lot more tolerable since John came. He even bothered to have manners now. Well. As far as manners went for him, that is.

**Yeah. Sherlock’s a lot nicer now, that’s for sure. –GL**

_Gregory. You know that’s not all that has changed in Sherlock since John came. –MH_

**I’ve no idea what you’re talking about now. –GL**

_You know_ exactly _what I’m talking about. The way Sherlock looks at John, especially when the other’s not looking; have you noticed that? –MH_

Greg quirked his brow when he saw Mycroft’s text. The way Sherlock looks at John...? What’s he mean by that? He thought for a few seconds, looking at all those instances when the dark-haired detective looked at his best mate. And now that Greg thought about it...

**OH MY GOD. Are you bloody serious?! –GL**

_I am, indeed, ‘bloody serious’. Especially after his ‘fall’. He was smitten before, now he’s just downright a schoolgirl. –MH_

**What the hell are you talking about? He wasn’t smitten before. –GL**

_Well. Smitten to Holmes standards. You do realise that romance isn’t our ‘area’? –MH_

**Clearly. Seriously, drugging your best mate without their knowledge and then using them as an experiment is the Holmes version of ‘smitten’? –GL**

_Of course not. That’s just Sherlock. –MH_

**Right. Stupid of me to think that there’d be people other than Sherlock to do that. –GL**

_You’re not stupid, Gregory. Just ignorant. –MH_

**Well that definitely makes me feel better. –GL**

_I’m joking, you idiot. –MH_

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --

Sherlock groaned when he walked into the sitting room, seeing his brother on John’s chair. Mycroft’s been here since John went out to the shops; just typing away on his phone and lounging about. That was rather peculiar for the older Holmes. Not the lounging around thing –he’s like that when it’s just the two of them- but the texting. Mycroft never texts when he could just call. Unless...

“Who’re you texting?” Sherlock asked, a smirk forming on the corner of his mouth.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock briefly before looking down at his phone again. “None of your business,” he mumbled, typing away on his phone, “Piss off.”

A broad grin spread across Sherlock’s face at that answer. His suspicion was confirmed. It’s Lestrade. He perched on the arm of John’s chair and looked down at Mycroft’s screen, before he was met with a face full of the Union Jack pillow.

“Mycroft!”

“What?”

“Stop it!” he groaned, voice muffled by the pillow held to his face.

Mycroft smirked, shoving the pillow harder to Sherlock’s face and hiding his phone in his trousers' pocket. He was done texting Greg anyway, so he could entertain hsi brother now. “Make me, baby brother.”

Grasping his brother’s wrist, Sherlock tried to yank his hands down, only to fall awkwardly into Mycroft’s lap. They fell silent for a few seconds, staring at each other, before they burst out laughing.

When Mycroft finally calmed down, he sighed quietly, gently ruffling his brother’s hair. Sherlock glanced up at him with a smirk.

“You know you can just say that you’ve missed me,” the younger Holmes grinned.

Mycroft shook his head, but smiled down at his brother all the same. “How can I miss you when I just saw you yesterday, baby brother?”

“Alright, stop it with the baby brother.”

“Make me.”

And before Mycroft knew it, he was pinned to the ground and being tickled mercilessly. He was already gasping for breath after a few seconds, a devilish smirk adorning Sherlock’s face. Mycroft’s legs were flailing around, while his hands tried to push Sherlock off of him –with little success.

“Sher-Sherlock-!” he practically screamed, “S-stop...! Just-!” his sides were starting to hurt from laughing and he was gasping for breath when the younger man finally stopped.

“Do you yield?” he smirked.

Mycroft was still breathing hard as he nodded. “Yes...yes, fine...” he said breathlessly, looking up at his younger brother with a glare.

The dark-haired detective simply smirked as he stood up and walked over to sit on his armchair. When Mycroft sat up, he fixed a pointed look at the younger man, rubbing at his sides.

“Git.”

“You’re the git.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, standing up. “Oh, just shut it.” He turned his back and reached his hand into his pocket, only to realise his phone was gone. He whipped around to look at Sherlock, groaning when he saw his phone in his hands.

“So you _were_ texting Lestrade.” Sherlock grinned as he scrolled down and read Mycroft’s texts. He knew Mycroft fancied the silver-haired detective, but he didn’t know that he was actually _texting_ him. Not to mention that their texts weren’t exactly work related. When Sherlock scrolled past a few particular texts talking about him, his smirk disappeared as he looked down at his lap, face flushing.

“What the bloody hell do you mean?” he looked up at Mycroft and frowned. He didn’t know he’s become that obvious about his feelings that even _Lestrade_ caught on.

Mycroft smirked, knowing exactly what Sherlock meant, but decided to play ignorant. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he said as he walked over to his brother, perching on the arm of his chair. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

If Mycroft wasn’t his brother, or if he wasn’t cleverer than him, he would’ve killed him a long time ago. He glanced down at the texts again and groaned. “I’m not a schoolgirl!”

“Of course you aren’t.” Mycroft smiled as he ruffled his brother’s hair before his hand was swatted away, “You’re just a consulting detective acting like a lovesick puppy over an army doctor.”

And at Mycroft’s words, as if on cue, John appeared at the door. He had a surprised expression on his face when his eyes landed on Mycroft; most likely because Mycroft wasn’t donning his usual three-piece suit and was just wearing dark jeans and a button down with a cashmere jumper over it. And probably because he was just perched on the arm of Sherlock’s chair like a normal bloke instead of some posh git.

“Um,” John started, looking confusedly between Sherlock and Mycroft, before deciding to look at Sherlock instead. “Is he dressed up for a case or...?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he watched the doctor’s mind whir at the simple sight of Mycroft in casual clothes. Of course that would happen. But it’s not like it should be much of a big deal. He tossed Mycroft’s phone back to him, shifting his gaze back to John. “It’s not for a case. He’s on leave.”

When Sherlock said those words, John appeared to process them for a moment before just saying, “Oh.”

Mycroft shifted his gaze between Sherlock and John, before glancing down at his phone. “Well then,” he mumbled, “I’ve got to go. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time together.” Mycroft grinned as he lifted his head and fixed Sherlock a knowing look, making the younger man huff as he retreated to the kitchen, his face obviously flushed.

He turned to look at John for a moment, and then smiled. “See you.”

John simply quirked his brow; his head turned towards Sherlock with a confused look on his face, and nodded. “Uh. Yeah. Bye.”

And with that, Mycroft left Baker Street, leaving Sherlock to deal with John asking questions about what just happened. He didn’t really want to go home yet, considering he won’t have anything to do, so he thought about going to the shops. He needed to get some groceries anyway. And now that he thought about it, he might even meet Greg on the way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. Was a bit lazy. Apologies.

**Chapter 5**

Greg pulled on his Arsenal sweatshirt and some black jeans, deciding he could go out and get some groceries and stock up for the week. He went to the shops just fifteen minutes from his flat and bought enough ingredients to cook himself proper meals that would last him for the week.

He was walking by his favourite shops, idly looking at the merchandise on display, before he caught sight of a familiar auburn-haired man. Greg immediately turned his head to look, a broad grin spreading across his face when he saw Mycroft in jeans and a jumper, groceries in one hand as he looked through a bunch of music pieces on sale in front of a music store. Not to mention that music store was the one Greg usually went to.

The silver-haired man still wasn’t used to seeing Mycroft look casual –doing stuff normal blokes do, and without the busty brunette by his side. Well, there probably was a nearby security detail watching him, but he still looked pretty normal.

With a deep breath and an idiotic grin, he walked over to the younger man. He was pretty sure Mycroft hasn’t seen him yet, since he was obviously focused on his search through the music pieces. He quietly approached the man and tapped his shoulder, chuckling when he whirled around with a surprised expression.

“Gregory,” he said with a small smile, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. “Fancy meeting you here...what’re you...?”

Greg lifted the bags in his hands and shook them slightly, smiling, “Groceries. ‘Bout you?”

The younger man shuffled awkwardly on his feet, looking down. And of course, Greg couldn’t help but look at what he was looking at. He quirked his brow when he saw the sheet music. Piano accompaniment pieces. Accompaniments for the Violin.

But before Greg could even ask why the younger man was looking at them, Mycroft started to speak. “Um. I was doing groceries as well...but...I really should be going...” he tried, his face still downcast as he tried to avoid the DI’s gaze. Greg tilted his head curiously.

“Are you in a hurry?” he asked slowly, “Maybe we could grab a bite together. It’s lunch now, so...”

A small smile started to form on Mycroft’s face as he considered Greg’s offer. “W-well...I’m not _exactly_ in a hurry, but...”

“Oh, come on. You said you had nothing to do at home, right? A bit of lunch wouldn’t hurt.”

When Mycroft finally looked up at Greg, the older man was giving him a puppy dog look, and Mycroft couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright...” he smiled. And this time, it was Greg’s turn to blush. The things that smile did to him...and maybe he could ask about the music pieces later while they were eating.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --

Mycroft was rather surprised –but also delighted- when he met Greg on his way home. But it was unfortunate that he met him in the middle of his search for a song to play on his mum’s birthday. She called after he left 221b, and requested that he and Sherlock play at her party. Who was he to deny her that?

But now Greg knows he can play, and he wasn’t so sure if that was a good thing or not. On the positive side, knowing how to play the piano would probably impress Greg. But on the other hand, he might ask to hear him play some time, and Mycroft can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t just embarrass himself.

Now he was going to eat with Greg, and Mycroft could definitely see the curiosity in his eyes. He’d probably ask questions while they ate. Mycroft was already dreading the idea.

“So...where do you want to eat?” he asked, looking back down at the music pieces he’s been sorting through. He still wasn’t sure on what he should play for his mum’s party –or if Sherlock would be alright with performing. Probably not; considering that the last time they actually performed in front of an audience when they were children, Sherlock went a bit manic because of all the people that were staring at them. He’s always hated being on display. But hopefully he’s grown out of that.

Mycroft snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Greg clear his throat. Apparently, he was talking about where they could eat. His face flushed slightly, a bit embarrassed.

“You alright, Mycroft...?” Greg asked softly, concern showing on his face. It was rather curious that such a man as Greg would be concerned about him. Well. Probably not so curious, now that they’re friends. Friends do such things, right? Worry about each other?

“Yes. I was just thinking...um,” he shook his head and looked up at Greg, giving him an apologetic smile, “Apologies if I wasn’t listening a while ago. Where did you want to go again?”

Greg looked at him worriedly for a moment, before brushing it off. “Well,” he said, “I was thinking maybe we could go back to mine for lunch,” he paused for a moment and looked down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly, “...and I could cook for us.” When he looked back up at Mycroft, he had an idiotic grin on his face that Greg was pretty sure he’s been the only one that has seen it.

“That’d be wonderful,” he grinned.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’d love to taste your cooking.”

Greg was grinning like an idiot, just as if the Queen just told him that. But after a few seconds, he came back to his senses and cleared his throat, “But maybe we should drop your groceries off at your place first...?”

As soon as Greg said the words, a black, unmarked car pulled up beside them. Mycroft looked at him and smiled, “Good idea. My people could bring your groceries to your flat as well.”

 “What? Oh, uh, it’s alright. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Oh, no. It’s quite alright,” Mycroft said before shrugging and opening the door, “they’re going to pass by your flat anyway, since it’s on the way to mine.”

“Really?”

Mycroft loaded his bags into the car and then turned to look at Greg. “Yes. You know that flat with the emerald green door up at Upper Brook Street?”

Greg nodded.

“That’s where I live.” Mycroft said simply, chuckling a bit when Greg looked at him with wide eyes.

The silver-haired man shook his head, smiling fondly. “You mean to tell me that,” he said, “You’ve been living a few minutes away from me, and you didn’t even bother mentioning it?”

Mycroft smirked, “I mentioned it now, didn’t I?”

“You’re a git, you know that?” Greg said jokingly, placing his groceries with Mycroft’s in the backseat of the car.

A warm smile spread across Mycroft’s face as he laughed. “I know I am.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --

“So you play the piano, yeah?” Greg asked as they walked to his flat, deciding they’d rather walk than ride the car since it was such a beautiful day. A smile played at his lips when he saw Mycroft flinch at the question. “Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

Mycroft sighed softly. “Well...it’s not that I’m ‘embarrassed’...” his voice trailed off, looking down and watching his feet as it trudged along the pavement.

“Then what is it, then?”

“I’m just...” Greg could see Mycroft trying to formulate the right words, and then he looked up. “It’s just that I’d rather keep my musical abilities hidden because...Well. I’m rather mediocre. I’m not...used to that...” he said quietly.

Greg tilted his head to the side as he watched Mycroft’s expression. For Greg, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he wasn’t good or not; but he could see that for Mycroft, it was a _very_ big deal.

“Hey,” Greg mumbled, unthinkingly placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “You’re probably pretty good, considering the fact that you might’ve been playing since you were a kid.” A smile started to curl on Mycroft’s lips at Greg’s words, and he couldn’t help but match it with his own.

“Probably better than normal players, I guess...” he said, “But you better keep this a secret, alright? No one shall know about this.”

Greg chuckled at the small pout on Mycroft’s lips, and he shook his head. “Except the people you’ll be playing for at your Mum’s party. I think it’d be rather pointless to keep it a secret now.”

“I would still like to keep the illusion that no one knows about it.”

“So...it’s our little secret then?” Greg glanced at Mycroft, a grin curling at the corner of his lips when Mycroft seemed to consider it.

“Alright, then,” Mycroft nodded, that idiotic grin back on his face which Greg was definitely starting to love. “This will be our little secret. Just between the two of us.”

Greg’s grin broadened. “Yeah. Our little secret.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thought our other little meetings were 'proper dates'?"

**Chapter 6**

It was a little after two that Mycroft was leaving Greg’s flat, their impromptu lunch date (yes, a date) going pleasantly well. Greg was brimming with pride at each of Mycroft’s compliments about his cooking. He rarely cooked for anyone anymore, so the compliments were very much welcome.

They talked for a bit more, before Mycroft decided he should probably go home.

“Oh,” Greg pouted, but brightened when an idea popped into his head. “How ‘bout I walk you home, yeah?”

Mycroft’s eyes widened at Greg’s offer and he shook his head, cheeks tinted with a blush. “No,” he smiled sheepishly, “it’s alright, Gregory.”

But despite Mycroft’s protests, Greg walked home with him anyway. It was just a few minute’s walk after all. And Greg didn’t mind –especially since that meant he could have more time with Mycroft.

When they arrived at Mycroft’s flat, standing at the front door, they stood staring at each other for a few moments, before they both had idiotic grins on their faces.

“So…” Greg mumbled, shifting awkwardly on his feet, “I’ll see you, yeah…?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Mycroft nodded minutely, grinning.

They stayed silent, just looking over each other’s faces, and then Mycroft stepped forward.

Greg’s eyes widened when he felt soft lips pressing against his, Mycroft’s hand gently cupping his cheek. His pulse skyrocketed, face now fully covered in a blush. When Mycroft pulled back, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He didn’t know what to say.

“I…um…” Mycroft blushed, unable to meet Greg’s eyes as he shuffled awkwardly. “I-I’ll go in now…” And then the door was suddenly in Greg’s face as Mycroft disappeared into the house.

He was still speechless. And his heart was still racing. He’d never been this affected by a kiss before, and it wasn’t all that surprising; considering the fact that he’s had a crush for the auburn-haired man for at least a few years now.

And then after a few more minutes of standing in front of Mycroft’s front door, still trying to figure out what had just happened, he was grinning stupidly. He was practically skipping as he walked home.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mycroft was frozen, leaning heavily against the door. He just did that. He just kissed Greg. His face was flushed beet red, heart racing out of his chest.

He still can’t believe he actually _kissed_ Greg. He brought a hand up to his lips, his fingers tracing lightly over his lips. Without much effort, he could imagine that brief moment again, could imagine the soft feel of Greg’s lips against his.

It was probably a bad idea, he thought, to just close the door in Greg’s face like that. He should’ve at least explained his actions. But then again, what was he to explain? It was basically a confession. Obviously a confession.

He was still lost in his thoughts when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, his cheeks immediately tinting again at the realisation of who it was.

**Hey. Got home alright. Any chance I could see you again tomorrow…? GL**

A swell of relief bubbled in Mycroft’s chest, and an idiotic grin was on his face. So Greg was alright with it, since he hadn’t mentioned it. The kiss. He pushed off of the door, went to his room and plopped down on the bed. Before he could even text a reply, his phone vibrated again.

**Um. Thank you, by the way. For the kiss. It was nice. GL**

Mycroft reread the text a couple of times, his cheeks blushing harder. So Greg wasn’t just alright with the kiss…he actually _liked_ it. Mycroft can die happy now.

_You are very much welcome, Gregory. I am free tomorrow, so I guess we could meet again. MH_

He paused a moment before sending another text.

_What do you have in plan for tomorrow? MH_

**Dinner. My place again, if that’s alright with you. Haven’t really got much money to take you to some place fancy. GL**

_Are you actually proposing to take me out on a proper date? MH_

**Well…yeah. Somethin’ wrong with it? GL**

_No, it’s fine. MH_

**Myc? GL**

_Gregory? MH_

**I thought our other little meetings were “proper dates”? GL**

_Well. Neither of us admitted that those were dates, so… MH_

**So you /did/ think they were dates! >:D GL**

_“ >:D”? Seriously, Gregory? MH_

**What? All the cool kids do it! GL**

_Charming, Gregory. Just charming. MH_

**I know I am. You kissed me. ;D GL**

_Stop it with those. MH_

**Make me. :P GL**

_I strongly advise you to not incur a Holmes’ wrath. MH_

**Oooh. Mycroft Holmes trying to be big and scary? :O GL**

_I am warning you. MH_

**Fine, fine. So…I’ll come by your flat, say, six or seven? GL**

_Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, Gregory. MH_

**Alright-y, Mikey! :D GL**

By the time Mycroft put his phone down, he was grinning stupidly. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mycroft was sprawled out on his bed, reading _Deathly Hallows_ , when he felt his phone vibrate from beneath his pillow. He let out a quiet sigh as he fumbled around for the phone, before glancing down at the caller ID. It was Sherlock. His brows furrowed a bit. He never calls when he could just text.

“Sherlock?”

“Mummy called me.”

“And?”

A bit of a smirk pulled at his lips when he heard the younger man huff. “She wanted me – _us_ \- to play for her on her birthday next week.”

The older man sighed softly, staring up at the ceiling. “Well?” he asked, “What do you think we should do?”

He could practically hear the scowl in Sherlock’s voice as he spoke, “Practice. Obviously.”

“We don’t know what to play, though…” Mycroft mused, his hand playing idly with the edge of his pillow.

“Um…” Sherlock murmured through the other line, “We could go with one of my compositions?”

The older man grinned broadly. “Really now, ‘Lockie?” he chuckled, “You actually composed a piece that had a _piano_ accompaniment? You missed playing with me that much?”

“I…of course not!” Sherlock scowled, “I didn’t compose a piano part for it. That’s _your_ job. You _can_ do that, yes?” the younger man said, a hint of a challenge in his words. And, of course, Mycroft accepted.

“Alright,” he sighed, “We’ll practice tomorrow.”

“When and where?”

“Lunch, my flat. Obviously.”

“Alright.”

There was a short pause in their conversation, before a smirk crept along Mycroft’s lips. “You are free to bring _John_ with you. If you like.”

All Mycroft heard was a groan from the other line, before the call cut off.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It didn’t surprise the auburn-haired man when Sherlock _did_ bring John along the next day. Of course he’ll grab the opportunity to show off to the army doctor.

Sherlock and John arrived in front of Mycroft’s door, the younger man carrying his violin case and a scowl firmly in place. But that was immediately replaced by a goofy grin when the shorter man smiled at him.

“ _Christ_ …” the shorter man mumbled as he took in the sight of the politician’s home: pale brown walls with dark, wooden panels; genuine swords and paintings of green, rolling hills and Scottish _lochs_ lining them; dark, mahogany floor boards; a floor-to-ceiling book case covering one wall. To put it basically, it was like someone’s fantasy of a library come to life. As expected of the older Holmes.

The dark-haired detective scowled at his brother when he saw the smug smirk playing on his lips. “Show-off…” he murmured, glaring at the older Holmes.

“Saying something, ‘Lockie?” Mycroft grinned, not looking at the younger man as they made their way to the kitchen.

Sherlock just scowled at Mycroft, blushing brightly when John looked at him, obviously amused by the pet name.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They had a bit of lunch before heading to the music room (yes, Mycroft had a music room), John perching on one of the arm chairs backed up against the wall. He glanced between the two brothers; Mycroft settling himself in front of the grand piano in the middle of the room while Sherlock stood beside him, bending down to take his violin out of the case.

Mycroft quirked his brow when he saw the younger man’s violin. “You still have that old thing?” he said, nodding toward the younger Holmes’ antique violin.

“It’s from grandfather,” Sherlock huffed, standing up straight, tucking his instrument under his arm as he rosined his bow, “Of course I still have it.”

A bit of a smile tugged at Mycroft’s lips as he positioned his fingers over the black and white keys, playing a soft, familiar tune. “And here I thought you didn’t understand sentiment…” he said, fingers flying over the keys.

John had a warm smile on his face as he watched the interaction between the brothers; he never saw them this civilised and relaxed before. It also seemed as if they forgot that he was even there (they did, actually).

“That’s mum’s composition,” Sherlock suddenly said, a smile on his face as he settled the violin between his shoulder and chin.

After the first few bars, Sherlock joined in, the tune warm and sweet as if it was composed on a spring morning. The notes floated across the room, somehow out of place with the Holmesian qualities of the area: mahogany panelled walls, dark green carpeted floors, two large brown-leather sofas and armchairs backed up against the four walls, and another of those floor-to-ceiling bookcases that seemed to just pop out of nowhere in the older Holmes’ house.

The two brothers were immersed in their playing; Sherlock swaying slightly to the music, his eyes closed and jaw set as his bow glided along the strings; and then Mycroft just relaxed, his eyes also closed, nimble fingers playing across the black and white keys.

When the song ended, and the last chord was struck, John was staring, awestruck, clapping as a huge idiotic grin formed on his face. God, the Holmes boys sounded _amazing_.

The two brothers jolted a bit when John applauded them, seeming to have forgotten that he was there since they were far too absorbed in their music. A small blush tinted Sherlock’s cheeks, beaming at the shorter man.

“That was…” John sighed, shaking his head, “Where the hell did you two learn to play like that?”

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock from where he was standing, the other looking in return. In John’s point of view, it looked as if the two were having a telepathic conversation.

After a minute or so, the younger Holmes turned to look at the blonde. “We were children when we were taught,” he said, “Mycroft was taught when he was five, and then I was taught at the same age. Sort of a Holmesian tradition.”

“ _Five_? You were taught that young?”

“Of course,” Mycroft said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why? Haven’t you got something that you learned at an early age?”

John scoffed and shook his head. “No,” he chuckled, “I was still eating glue at that age, so I doubt I would’ve learned an instrument.”

The Holmes boys looked at each other, as if they were both saying “peasant” with their expressions. Well. That’s what John thought, anyway.

“By the way,” the older Holmes said, still looking at his brother, “You said we’d use one of _your_ compositions. Not mum’s.”

“Of course we’re gonna use my composition,” the dark-haired detective muttered, “Though you’ve got to come up with the piano part by yourself.”

Mycroft smiled, nodding as he positioned his fingers over the keys once more. “Of course.” The older Holmes watched as Sherlock placed the violin between his chin and shoulder, brow quirking when he didn’t see any sign of a sheet music. “You didn’t write it down?”

Sherlock turned to look at him and scowled. “Of course I did!” he huffed, “But I only need to glance at it once to have it memorised.”

A small smile tugged at Mycroft’s lips. “I’ve taught you well, brother dear.”

“Of course you did, brother mine,” the younger Holmes smirked.

The two brothers soon forgot John again –to the point that the army doctor got paged for an emergency at the surgery, said his goodbyes to the two though he was ignored, and took off.

Sherlock started off, the emotion in the song far different from what they had been playing earlier. It was rather melancholy, but then shifted into something a bit lighter as the notes wore on…and then it turned melancholy again. Just as expected of Sherlock.

Mycroft closed his eyes, letting the notes wash over him, and positioned his fingers above the keys. Since the structure of the melody for the violin part was a bit easy to follow, the older Holmes easily managed to come up with the piano part.

When Sherlock shifted into the _legato_ again, that’s when Mycroft joined in. It was a lively tune, the notes passing smoothly as the two brothers played.

The younger Holmes opened his eyes to watch his brother, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite what he said on the phone, he _had_ missed playing with his brother. Sherlock’s chaos mixed in with Mycroft’s order…it just somehow turned into harmony when they played.

Finally when the song ended, the smile on Sherlock’s face disappeared, soon replaced with a scowl when he saw the older man’s smirk.

“So you _did_ miss playing with me,” Mycroft smirked, fingers still playing idly with the keys as he looked up at his brother.

The dark-haired man scowled. “Wipe that smug smirk off your face,” he growled, poking Mycroft in the stomach with his bow.

Mycroft grinned and just shook his head. He turned his attention back to the piano, playing the tune he added to Sherlock’s. “Maybe…” he murmured, “We could structure this like one of mum’s compositions,” he looked up at Sherlock. “What do you think?”

Sherlock thought for a moment, building the song in his head if they did just that. It seemed alright, though he wasn’t all that sure because Mycroft would likely add in more notes. But so far, it sounded good. “Alright,” he nodded, “Let’s fix this up, shall we?”

The brothers smiled at each other, before Mycroft started playing again.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By the time the Holmes brothers finished their joint composition and had written it down, it was already six o’clock. Sherlock plopped down on the nearby sofa and let out an exasperated sigh.

“My arms feel sore,” he groaned, left hand rubbing over his right arm. “Playing for five hours straight is awful…”

Mycroft nodded, stretching out on the other sofa face down, face digging into a throw pillow. “Well, buck-up,” he murmured, voice muffled by the pillow, “We’ll be playing a bit longer than that at Mum’s party.”

The younger Holmes let out another groan, already feeling tired just thinking about it. “Shouldn’t have agreed to that…” he muttered, eyes closed.

“It’s her 70th birthday. We’ve got no choice but to agree to it.”

Sherlock just grunted in response, still rubbing his arms. A small, comfortable silence surrounded them as they relaxed, before Mycroft sat up.

“Well,” he yawned, stretching his arms, “I’m going to take a shower. You go do whatever you want,” he paused before adding, “As long as it doesn’t involve an explosion.” And with that, he stood up from the sofa and started walking toward the doorway.

The younger man glanced up at him, brow quirked. “I would’ve assumed you’ve taken a bath before we got here,” he murmured, brow quirking when his brother stopped dead in his tracks.  A slow, broad smirk spread across his lips. “Unless…” his voice trailed off, his smirk growing as his brother turned to glare at him.

“Sod off–”

“Have you got a date?” Sherlock interrupted, grinning.

A small blush crept along Mycroft’s cheeks, shifting his gaze anywhere other than his brother. It was pathetic how Mycroft was blushing like a schoolgirl, even in front of his _brother_. When they were younger, he often managed to make his expression neutral concerning topics like that. But when it came to Gregory…

When Mycroft failed to answer him, the younger Holmes shook his head, still smirking. “Go on, brother mine,” he snickered, “ _Gregory dear_ is waiting for you!”

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock and flipped him off, and then stomped out of the room, muttering something about “stupid baby brothers”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs that the Holmes boys played, in order:
> 
>  
> 
> [Brian Crain -Butterfly Waltz](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UoU9YLPYhU)  
> [Brian Crain -Rain](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJC93aehXV4)
> 
>  
> 
> All credit goes to Brian Crain, because I'm a shit composer and he's _really_ good. Just...fuck, I love his work. So yeah, all credit goes to him. :D
> 
> Oh, and forgive me if my musical terms are wrong. I'm a bit not good with that. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for late postage. Though I'm not even sure if people read this anymore.

**Chapter 7**

By the time Mycroft was dressed, he went to the sitting room and saw his younger brother curled up on the sofa, a large leather-bound copy of _The Murders In The Rue Morgue_  tucked under his arm as he dozed off. A small smile curled on his lips as he walked over to the younger man, perching on the arm of the sofa and carding a gentle hand through the younger man’s unruly, dark locks.

The younger man let out a soft grunt, head pushing into Mycroft’s touch as he curled up tighter on the sofa, but didn’t wake up.

Mycroft was practically petting the dark-haired detective, a smile on his face. He had missed this. Seeing the cuddly side of Sherlock when they were children was always something the older man loved. Despite his and Sherlock’s differences, the brothers cared about each other very much. He broke out of his daze when he heard the doorbell ring.

“Myc…?”

Mycroft looked down at his younger brother, the latter looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. Sleep was still etched all over his face, and that made the older man smile. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” he grinned.

Sherlock scowled, though that quickly disappeared when Mycroft started petting his hair again, making him purr. He always loved it when he felt fingers card through his hair. Though when he looked back up at the older man, the scowl was firmly in place again as he saw Mycroft’s smirk.

“I’ve got to go,” Mycroft said, still smirking as he stood to answer the door, “I’ll see you in a bit, brother dear.”

“Go fuck yourself, brother mine,” Sherlock grunted, curling up on the sofa again as his brother went out of the room.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Greg was standing on Mycroft’s doorstep, shuffling nervously on his feet. Alright. He was on a proper date. With _Mycroft_. He still can’t believe his luck; though it had been obvious from the start that this was where it would lead to, now that he thought about all the times they’ve spent together.

As he stood longer on the doorstep, he can’t help but remember what had happened in this spot. Their kiss. Their _first_ kiss. _‘God, was that just heavenly…_ ’he thought to himself, imagining the soft feel of Mycroft’s lips against his again. He thought about whether or not he could get the younger man to do that again.

He startled out of his thought when the door swung open, revealing the younger man in a navy blue button-up that was rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans. An idiotic grin spread across Greg’s face as he looked Mycroft over. _Damn_ , did he look nice.

“Hey,” Greg mumbled, smiling sheepishly at the taller man. When he saw a small blush creep up to Mycroft’s cheeks, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, just staring over each other’s faces. When they both realised that they were doing the same thing, they blushed brightly before laughing.

“Um…right,” Greg cleared his throat, turning and walking toward the sidewalk. He glanced behind his shoulder to look at the younger man. “Shall we…?”

Mycroft nodded, following after Greg, a goofy grin still on his face.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The walk to Greg’s flat was…interesting. They didn’t talk much, only talking to ask about the other’s day and whatnot. The silence wasn’t awkward, not what one would expect during times like these. It was rather comfortable, and the two of them liked it.

The backs of their hands and their shoulders occasionally brushed, hinting that one of them wanted to hold the other’s hand, but never actually doing it. But after a few more minutes of that, Greg curled his finger’s tightly around Mycroft’s.

The auburn-haired man’s head turned to look at Greg, and then their enjoined hands, and then back up at Greg; eyes slightly wide and face flushed.

Greg wasn’t looking at Mycroft, his face downcast and his blush reaching up to his ears as he tried to keep a straight face. But when he felt Mycroft link their fingers together, an idiotic grin spread across his face, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. They haven’t even been together for more than a day, and he was already _whipped_.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When they reached the older man’s flat, Greg immediately lead Mycroft to the kitchen –which also functioned as a dining room-, and went to put together their dinner.

Mycroft watched, a smile on his face, as Greg shuffled around the kitchen –checking up on what appeared to be a caramel flan in the refrigerator; taking out some bowls, glasses, and spoons from the cupboard; and then going over the stove to stir some soup.

The younger man stood behind Greg as he stirred, using his height to his advantage and peeking over the shorter man’s shoulder, taking in the scent of the _bouillabaisse_. “Smells good,” Mycroft smiled.

Greg startled a bit when Mycroft was suddenly behind him, his cheeks heating. He turned his head a bit to look at Mycroft –and that was probably a bad idea. He found his face just a few inches from the younger man’s, near enough for him to just lean in and kiss him.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, and shifting his attention back to the soup.

“Are you classically trained, by the way?”

He glanced at Mycroft again, before turning off the stove. “Pass me those bowls, yeah?” Greg mumbled, going over to the counter in front of the kitchen window, taking some parsley from the tiny garden he had on the windowsill. He didn’t talk until he got the soup into bowls, an artful sprinkle of parsley over it.

He turned to look at Mycroft again as he wiped his hands. “Well,” he started, “Da was trained, and in turn, he trained me and my brother.”

Mycroft tilted his head to the side, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ve got a brother?” he asked as he sat at the island counter, his chin propped on his fist and his elbow on the countertop.

Greg nodded as he placed their bowls on the table before going to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of (wine). It’s perfectly chilled, just the way he likes it. He looked at Mycroft, smirking. “As if you didn’t know,” he chuckled as he took out two pint glasses (he didn’t have wine glasses) and set them on the counter before Mycroft.

He shook his head, smiling. “I actually didn’t know.”

The DI’s eyes widened, his brows going up. “ _Really_?” he asked, surprised.

Mycroft shook his head again. “Yep,” he said, making the “p” pop. “Why are you so surprised?” he asked, chuckling.

“W-well,” Greg stuttered a bit, “I just…I thought you’d probably know about Joe; what with you taking background checks on anyone who gets within a ten-mile radius of your brother…”

“I assure you,” Mycroft sighed, sitting a bit straighter, “While I _do_ take background checks on the people my brother associates with, I only take the necessary information. I don’t venture further than that unless necessary.”

For some reason, Greg found that a bit hard to believe. Knowing Mycroft –well, knowing him from what Sherlock _says_ \- he would’ve thought that the elder Holmes would know more about you than you know yourself.

The silver-haired man looked Mycroft over a bit, eyes roaming over his face. “Huhh,” he mumbled, “So you don’t know everything about me, other than my–”

“Name, age, birthdate, address, previous and current jobs, and your blood type. It’s not that much, really,” Mycroft smiled, “I’m not one to indulge in _all_ of a person’s details. Now that would just be creepy, yes?”

Greg didn’t know how to feel about that. Probably glad –since he could actually tell Mycroft something about himself that wouldn’t make the younger man say “yes, I know”. He grinned broadly, reaching over to clasp one of Mycroft’s hands in his, before bringing it up and pressing it against his lips. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Mycroft just blushed, warm smile on his face, and nodded.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dinner passed relatively well, the two migrating to the sofa and laughing about one of Sherlock’s exploits. Greg’s hand was sliding up and down Mycroft’s arm, when the younger man’s mobile rang. Mycroft cast Greg an apologetic look as he answered the phone, immediately standing up when he heard who it was.

“Yes, yes…I’ll be right there,” Mycroft said quietly, closing his phone and shoving it back into his pocket, before turning to look at Greg. He sat back down beside the DI, and let out a quiet sigh. “Apologies…but I’ve got to go.”

Greg just stared at Mycroft, his hand coming back to stroke up Mycroft’s arm again. They were silent for a while, Greg just stroking his arm, Mycroft staring at him. “So,” Greg said suddenly, “How many times do I have to keep on touching your arm until you kiss me?”

Mycroft startled a bit at the question, his cheeks immediately covered by a blush. “I-I…uhh…” he stuttered, eyes fixed on Greg’s lips, making the older man grin.

“Oh, just come here,” he smiled, leaning forward as he slipped a hand behind Mycroft’s neck. The kiss was soft, gentle. And Mycroft was _actually kissing back_! Greg grinned against the politician’s lips as it moved against his own, sighing when his arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer.

When they broke apart, both of their lips were swollen and red, both of their faces flushed. “You’re making it harder for me to leave…” Mycroft sighed as he cupped Greg’s cheek, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on Greg’s lips.

“And I don’t want you to leave,” Greg smiled, but let go of the younger man, nudging him until Mycroft stood. “But duty calls, right?”

“Unfortunately…” the politician mumbled, pouting. Greg quickly stood up and kissed it away, grinning stupidly when he pulled back. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist, pulling him close until they were pressed together.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow, right…?” Greg asked, draping his arms around Mycroft’s neck.

“I’m not sure, Gregory…” the auburn-haired man said quietly, “I’ve been asked to cut my leave short and attend to some urgent matters…I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again. It’s hard to tell with this kind of thing.”

What that thing was, Greg didn’t ask. But the amount of disappointment Greg felt was overwhelming, and slightly surprising. “Oh…” Greg said, his face falling, “Will you…at least call me when you get back…?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes.

Mycroft nodded, leaning forward to kiss Greg again softly. “Of course…” he mumbled against the older man’s lips, and drew back. “I promise to call as soon as I’m back in London,” he smiled warmly at Greg, making his heart flutter.

“Alright…” he murmured, hesitantly unwrapping himself from Mycroft. He watched as the auburn-haired man shrugged on his jacket, and then gathered his coat. He walked over to Mycroft’s side and took his hand, threading their fingers together. “I’ll walk you down, yeah?”

Mycroft smiled and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on Greg’s cheek.


End file.
